


make a mercy out of me

by vounoura



Series: but my heart's in atrophy [3]
Category: Pillars of Eternity
Genre: F/F, and references to Iovara, me rolling up my sleeves: time for the rarepair OT3 content, plus one tiny mention of Iselmyr but it's so small it's not worth tagging her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:22:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22240258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vounoura/pseuds/vounoura
Summary: Sarahel's not much for talking, much less about her personal life. People notice anyway.(Or: four people and four different moments concerning Sarahel and her not-so-secret affections.)
Relationships: Maia Rua/The Watcher, Maia Rua/Xoti, Maia Rua/Xoti/The Watcher, The Watcher/Xoti (Pillars of Eternity)
Series: but my heart's in atrophy [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1422955
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	make a mercy out of me

**Author's Note:**

> surprise, PoE content, first fic of 2020 babey!
> 
> I refuse to post at any time that isn't four o'clock in the morning

Edér's the one to really notice it first.  
  
Now he's known Sarahel a real long time - that year and a half chasing Thaos, her five years as the Lady of Caed Nua, Dyrford, the Deadfire - he's stood no more than a few days away from her for years now. Six and a half years is a _long_ time to figure someone out, from top to bottom.  
  
(He knows firstly that Sarahel is mostly all teeth and no bite, and that something softer lurks somewhere behind all those sharpened glass edges of hers, if long-forgotten and buried. He knows that Iovara still haunts her nights sometimes and that she forgets what her name is from time to time because she can't keep her identities straight. He knows how to tell when she's lying or trying to bullshit him about it because her ears twitch at the tips, just slightly.  
  
He knows that there are some secrets of hers that even six and a half years don't unearth, and that asking about anything from before the Dyrwood is a good way to cut a conversation short real fast.)  
  
The point is, Edér's hung around her long enough to know her better than most - which is saying something, because Sarahel reminds him of one of those skittish, ornery barn cats back in the Vale that used to claw him in the legs all the time, especially with people she doesn't know or doesn't particularly like.  
  
Which is why it's not _that_ surprising to him when she starts spending a lot of time hanging around with Xoti - and with Maia too, now that he thinks about it. When he mentioned the whole thing with Xoti the first time he had noticed the way her mouth had kinda tightened at the edges (which had been weird at the time, but hindsight and all) in that 'I'm unhappy but I'm not going to say anything about it' kind of way, so when Xoti stops chasing after _him_ and starts spending a lot of time with the local Watcher, well.  
  
It's not quite _that_ hard to put it all together, even for him.  
  
Where he's confused is where Maia fits into all this. Because as far as he knew (and maybe he just hasn't been paying much attention), the Deadfire's favourite Harvester and her sharpshooter lover were already together, but -

(But he sees the looks that pass between them when they think nobody's looking, how Xoti presses against them both as they walk, how even Ishiza preens and croons against their legs. He looks at Sarahel and sees something _deep_ and _vulnerable_ \- he's only ever seen that once before, in a long forgotten cavern deep under the earth of Eir Glanfath - flicker across her face and the questions die in his head.)

So when Maia calls Sarahel - Sarahel, the absurdly short wood elf who he legitimately thinks would keel over and die if she didn't curse every second word - _cutie_ , of all things, while they're wandering Neketaka's streets, Edér's half torn between taking the opportunity to laugh at her and preemptively moving to hold her back by the elbows.  
  
(The Sarahel he knows tends to kick people in the knees whenever they mention her height, or call her cute or adorable or any other pet name she finds oddly offensive. He would know, she's done it to him too many times to count.)  
  
So when all that happens is that Sarahel goes red - really red, like wildflowers or fruit - to the tips of her pointed ears, Edér has to stop dead because the Sarahel _he_ knows doesn't get embarrassed by anything, and this is so out-of-place he's not quite sure if what he's looking at is actually real.  
  
(And he's kind of disappointed actually that that's her reaction, because he _really_ wanted to see her try and kick Maia in the knees.)  
  
He feels himself bite down on the bit of his pipe, a question arranging itself on the tip of his tongue, but the glare Sarahel sends up at him just screams _not now, Edér_ so he wisely keeps his mouth shut.  
  
(Later, though, long after they've left Neketaka behind for the azure seas of the Deadfire, Edér will jokingly call her _cutie_ and Sarahel will spend the next forty-five minutes chasing him from one side of the ship to the other, trying to kick his knees in.  
  
For what it's worth, he's glad she's happy, from what he can see. She deserves it.)  
  
\---

(Later, over dinner, Edér asks - "So, do you have to grab a ladder every time you want to kiss Maia or...? Because your head only reaches her chest."

Maia snorts. Sarahel throws an extra fork at his head and tells him to shut up. There's no bite to it.)

\---  
  
Serafen tells her the same thing he did Maia, because her thoughts - however poorly she tries to guard them - are about as loud as the godsdamned cannons atop Fort Deadlight.

_(She stares at her from across the campfire, watches her laugh freely. Maybe it's just the way the light streaks across her skin, turning everything golden-brown, but she's suddenly struck with how beautiful she really is, right in this moment, and gods, she doesn't deserve this-)_ _  
_  
_You treat that lass right_ , he thinks, and alongside it go enough threats that don't need words to understand - Sarahel's face screws up, scars twisting into a wicked frown.  
  
_(I want you for always. Drinks in an unfamiliar bar. She's softer than she thought, warmer and gentler than a sharpshooter has any real right to be. She thinks about her hands wrapped around a gun, and isn't it funny how that contrasting brutality isn't supposed to be beautiful but it is-)_ _  
_  
She cuts that connection quickly, withdrawing back into herself (she's never really liked him poking around in her head for any reason, and if some of the glimpses he's had are any indication the Watcher's got a lot of secrets she prefers to keep buried) as fast as she can, but something in her gaze softens and he does see her nod imperceptibly when she's sure nobody else is looking.

_(Stolen moments in a quiet corner belowdecks. The height difference makes it awkward but she manages anyway, and her uniform reeks of oil and gunpowder but it's so undeniably her that it doesn't matter. Cinnamon and cloves press up against her back, a flash of tattered green-)_

_Good enough_ , he figures, and when Xoti sidles from Maia's side to the Watcher's to bump hips with her and throw an arm around her shoulders Serafen feels himself smirk, just a little.  
  
\---  
  
Aloth understands that feeling intimately - wanting something to remain quiet and private and yours alone. 

So that's why - removed from the others, sitting by a sputtering campfire that's slowly dying out - the only thing he says is, "Are you happy?"  
  
Sarahel stills at that, her face suddenly getting that unique expression that says _it's too godsdamned early to talk about feelings_ with that suspicious bent that just screams _why are you asking_ , and Aloth feels himself smile (not for the first time) because despite everything she hasn't changed a bit in five years.

(She still hides behind the glass and the thorns and the fake aggression, baring teeth because it's all she's ever known. She still acts like every question or inquiry into her life or her opinions is poised to be an attack on her personally, as if she has to defend herself from every single thing imaginable that could ever hurt her, even slightly.

And even after everything the glass and the thorns and the teeth have never gone away, not fully - and Aloth understands better than most that walls are notoriously hard to bring down - but.

He thinks of the name _Rîwdhîn_ and how even now Sarahel sometimes can't tell the difference between _Inquisitor_ and _Watcher_ and muses that if anyone deserves to be happy after all this it's her.)

And if he's being honest he's expecting the flippant _fuck off_ more than anything else, but instead Sarahel only works her jaw a little, sighing through her nose, and replies more than a little evasively, "How do you mean?"  
  
(She's stiffened now, throwing up those walls of sharpened glass she carries around with her wherever she goes. Aloth is glad to see that even just two people have managed to cross that no man’s land into places no one living being has ever so much as glimpsed, and thinks that two is more that have managed in Sarahel's whole lifetime.)  
  
He nods meaningfully across the way to a laughing Xoti, a smirking Maia - some sort of card game they're playing with Serafen and Edér - and if he spies the dusting of red spattering her features in the firelight he doesn't deign to say anything about it. "I only meant it in the general way." Aloth smiles. He looks back at the two of them and catches himself thinking that - as grim as it is to say - he’s glad that Eothas forced them all together.

(He’s glad that Sarahel has something else besides the lingering ghost of a long-dead woman.)

He glances back to find that she has followed his gaze, her expression guarded but contemplative and all-loving - as if she's gazing now at the entirety of her world - all at once. He almost doesn't catch her words over the fire, quiet as they are, but he hears her near-silent _don't worry about me_ and nods to himself, smiling for the both of them.

  
\---  
  
(Iselmyr's opinion is more among the lines of _aye, finally, 'bout damn time ye got ravished, lass_ , which embarrasses Aloth far more than it does Sarahel.  
  
It's appreciated, nonetheless.)  
  
\---  
  
It's Tekēhu who ends up being the bravest one, pointing it out first.

Xoti squeaks when he does, pulling her hood closer and higher and tighter against the crown of her hair, concealing the spattered mess of red and purple bruises disappearing down the side of her throat. Edér and Serafen both guffaw with mirth behind him, with the orlan offering an additional whoop of pleased encouragement.

(Whether it is Maia or Sarahel who put them there - or both, for that matter - he almost feels that it should be congratulated with a drink. That many lovebites takes _effort_ , he would know!)

It is when - at the same time - Maia and Sarahel both wear self-satisfied smirks that bring to mind the contentment of cats with fish that he finally laughs, long and loud and teasing.

(Sarahel on the other hand wears hers with pride, opting to fan her collar out as much as physically possible for good measure. Maia eyes them appreciatively when she's not looking - and, sometimes, even when she is, Xoti hiding a nervous, pleased grin behind her hands.

He spies the warmth there, lingering in those secret gazes he almost feels that he should not have seen - the kind that poets write about, despite how looking at Maia sometimes makes something deep in his gut roil in unease. Sarahel rubs at the bruises with two fingers and smiles something secret to herself. 

If he catches them later, slipping belowdecks when nobody's watching, well that's none of his business, is it?)

**Author's Note:**

> meanwhile, Sarahel voice: does sleeping with my best friend's sister cross a line or
> 
> (Rîwdhîn = Riathyn, I'm just super pretentious)
> 
> title is from Curses by the Crane Wives, which is a really good song,


End file.
